The Maddening Crowd
by Deadwoodpecker
Summary: Harry's best source of comfort is missing in action. Fireworks ensue.
1. Part I

There were times when Harry hated being an Auror.

He slammed into his small cottage, making sure that the door nearly came of its hinges. Even though he almost desperately wanted to see Ginny, he felt a small hope that she wasn't around. No one could hear his childish tantrums. Not that it was necessarily childish…

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and put both hands in his hair. It had taken a month for him to find out who was behind the disappearances in Yorkshire. Harry had worked his arse off, following clue after bloody little clue, and painstakingly researching every lead. He hadn't been quite so possessed over a job since Voldemort had died two years ago.

But it had been _children_ who had gone missing.

"Ginny?" he said hopefully, ignoring the sudden churning in his stomach. His desire to see her had returned full force.

The cottage was silent. Not that Harry had expected her to be there. Ginny was every bit as busy with her career as he was with his. Not to mention, they didn't live together. There was no reason for her to be at Harry's place at – he checked his watch – four on a Wednesday afternoon. The last time he'd talked to her, he hadn't been sure when the case would wrap up.

Not that she'd bothered to ask.

Harry stomped through the living room. Feeling more than a little immature – and apparently unable to help himself – Harry engaged his standing lamp in a mock duel when it got in his way. But he deftly made his way through the obstacle course of inanimate objects, and entered his kitchen.

The table was overflowing with newspapers. Harry snarled, wondering why he'd let Hermione talk him into getting a subscription to that worthless, piece of rubbish paper. Seriously considering burning the whole lot of neatly bundled papers, Harry threw himself into a chair and Summoned a butterbeer.

His mail wasn't entirely worthless, however. Buried beneath the pile was a glossy magazine. Harry could just see the tip of a broomstick on it, and his stomach unclenched slightly. _Quidditch Weekly_ was always a good read. Instead of thinking about what had been done to the children – the way Harry had found them – he could bury himself in images of flying and fun.

Sometimes Harry wished so badly that he'd chosen Quidditch as a career that his stomach hurt. Quidditch was fun and frivolous – hadn't he earned a bit of frivolity? Hadn't he seen enough, done enough? Instead, he'd become an Auror. What kind of masochist was he? Lots of things about his job reminded him of the past; few of those memories were pleasant. If he'd become a Quidditch player… he'd probably still be reminded of the past, but in a good way.

Off the pitch, Harry had lost a long list of people who had meant a lot to him. Beginning with his parents. On the pitch, Harry had never lost the Snitch. Off the pitch, Harry sometimes didn't know what to do when it came to his cases and his relationships. On the pitch, Harry knew how to fly. He was _good_ at it too, hadn't everyone told him that?

On the pitch, it wouldn't have taken him a fucking month to find the fucking Snitch.

Images filtered through his head, and Harry clenched his teeth. "The case is over," he told himself. Harry had turned in the reports to Kingsley an hour ago. He didn't need to think about it. It was over. Avery Parkinson was at the Ministry; Harry was certain that after the trial, he'd be in Azkaban for life.

Taking a deep breath through his nose, and blowing it out his mouth, Harry pulled _Quidditch Weekly_ out from under the pile of _Daily Prophets_. He focused on the cover: it was Evan Cooper from the Wimbourne Wasps. The moving picture made it clear that he was laughing. A wave of jealousy crashed over Harry. If he hadn't been seventeen and a complete idiot, he never would have signed up for the Aurors.

"I'd be better at it than you," Harry muttered, not caring if this was, in fact, true or not. He almost decided not to even read the damn thing, but what else was he to do? Obsess over his finished case? Or the way that Ginny couldn't be bothered to greet him – when he'd spoken to her, she hadn't even appeared to _care_ about when he would get home.

Harry swore, and opened the magazine to a random page.

His jaw dropped when a full-sized photo of Ginny immediately filled his vision. It was as though his thoughts had conjured her, because there she was beaming, and with a Quaffle tucked beneath her right arm. For an instant, Harry felt a surge of pride. It wasn't every day that a Quidditch player just out of her first year of playing professionally got her own spread in the magazine.

Indignation almost immediately squelched this feeling. Why hadn't she told him? True, he'd been pretty busy with his case, but he'd found time to talk to her almost every day. It seemed like something she'd be able drop in one of their conversations. "Yeah, Harry, I miss you too. By the way – I'm going to be featured in a _Quidditch Weekly_ article!" It might've been nice to have something _good_ to think about.

Not only that, but the next page was filled with candid shots: Ginny, flying through the air and scoring a goal; Ginny, being lifted onto the shoulders of her teammates. Ginny, being hugged and whirled around in a circle by David MacKenzie, one of her more exuberant fans. Harry glared at the image for almost a full minute, watching again and again as another man hugged _Harry's_ girlfriend.

Scowling, Harry bent his head and read the article.

**GINEVRA WEASLEY, EXTRAORDINARY CHASER FOR THE HOLYHEAD HARPIES**  
Benton Ludluck

_Ginevra Weasley, 19, has accomplished quite a lot in her young life. She received the Order of Merlin, Second Class, for her role as defender in the Battle of Hogwarts at the age of sixteen, as well as a Special Award for Services Done for the School. Already, there have been 10,000 chocolate frog cards printed with her image and biography on it._

_Last year, they had to update her biography when she accepted a starting position on the Holyhead Harpies. "I've known about Ginny Weasley for quite some time," says Team Captain Gwenog Jones. "Horace Slughorn mentioned her to me when she was only fifteen. Later, when I saw that she's excellent on a broom, I knew Horace hadn't been lying." According to verifiable sources, Ginny Weasley was approached after her last game as Captain of the Gryffindor team at Hogwarts._

Harry smiled at that. Gwenog _had_ approached Ginny right after her last game. Ginny had acted completely cool, of course. Later, though, with Harry, she'd let loose. His ears had rung with delighted laughter, and then she'd kissed him like _he_ had been the one who'd handed her the dream.

_"It's always been my dream to play professional Quidditch," Weasley told us after last Thursday's match between the Harpies and Puddlemere United. Fresh from a win, her exuberance was palpable. "My brothers always told me that I couldn't do it, you see, and that I was too little." George Weasley, owner of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, happened to be there at the time of the interview, and had something to add. "She was pretty small when she was young," he admits. "We were all shocked that she turned out so good, since we wouldn't let her play."_

_Her fans certainly disagree with her brothers. Self-appointed #1 fan of Ginny Weasley David MacKenzie says, "Size has nothing to do with it. She's tiny but fierce." His eyes light with fervor. "Grown men weep before her." This statement is actually true. The Keeper for Puddlemere United was definitely crying when she scored her ninth goal during the match. _

All good feelings had disappeared once the smarmy git MacKenzie had said his piece. Harry really hated it that so many of Ginny's male fans had developed a crush on her. Ginny always laughed it off, kissed him, and told him he had nothing to worry about, and that all female players – and most of the male players – had to learn how to deal with groupies.

Harry wished that her idea of dealing with groupies had more to do with showing off her Bat-Bogey Hex, and less to do with being polite to them. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he hadn't overheard the git MacKenzie tell one of his git friends that he had a picture of Ginny on his nightstand, right next to his bloody bottle of Mr. Wand's Greasy Helper.

Harry knew what _that_ meant, and it had been all he could do not to hex the git.

"Bloody wanker," he muttered.

_Her professional life is not the only reason why Ginny Weasley gets attention from journalists. Not only is she a national hero and a fantastic Quidditch player, but it's well-known that she's dating Harry Potter himself._

"That's right," Harry said grimly, feeling slightly mollified. He used to hate it that he was splashed all over the press. Now he saw the use in having the entire world know that Ginny was off-limits. "I'm the lucky bloke she chose to date," he told himself bracingly.

_"Oh, you're bringing that up?" Ginny asks. "Don't you think that's a bit_ Witch Weekly_ of you? It isn't even a big deal. It's not like we're getting married or anything."_

Had Harry read this article at any other time, it was quite possible that it wouldn't have bothered him in the slightest. After all, they'd both tried their damnedest to keep their personal lives out of the press as much as possible. The endless speculation about their relationship (how long would they last? Were they sleeping together? Were they secretly married?) got a bit wearying.

But right now, the words "it's not even a big deal" kept echoing in his head.

_It's not even a big deal._

_It's not even a big deal._

_It's not even a big deal. It's not like we're getting married or anything._

A dim, rational part of Harry tried to point out that it was true… he and Ginny weren't getting married. He hadn't asked her. They were both young. But it was something that Harry was certain would happen someday. He didn't think of his future without Ginny right next to him. He loved her.

_It's not even a big deal._

He'd even been planning to beg her to move in with him, even though the thought of breaking that news to her family, which was mostly filled with men who could beat Harry up if they wanted to, made him slightly frightened. But the desire to wake up next to her every day was slowly gaining on his fears. He needed her in a way that was quite as natural as breathing.

_It's not even a big deal._

Harry felt like he'd been struck in the back of the head with a Bludger. What if he'd spent the last two years of his life in a relationship that wasn't what he thought it was? His stomach clenched. He knew she loved him, but what if it wasn't the same as what he felt for her?

Obviously it wasn't. She'd told the bloody magazine that their relationship wasn't even a big deal, when Ginny was the biggest deal in Harry's life. It was quite clear that Ginny was a bit more casual. A lot more casual. It was a good thing he_hadn't_ invited her to move in with him. Or told her that he could see himself marrying her.

Since he wasn't a big deal to her, she obviously didn't feel the same way.

He pressed his hands over his eyes, not even noticing when his elbow clipped his bottle of butterbeer and knocked it over. His chest hurt.

_You're jumping to conclusions,_ the rational part of him pointed out.

_How am I possibly jumping to conclusions?_

_She didn't even say—_

__

She said I wasn't a big deal to her!

That isn't what she said, you prat.

_Bugger--_

But before Harry could continue his internal battle, his kitchen hearth flared to life. Green flames roared. Harry rose so abruptly that his legs slammed into the table. Gaping, he watched as a figure spun into existence.

A figure with red hair.

**Author's Note: **_I know I haven't been around very much lately. I've still been writing, but I've been caught up by an original. For those of you who have read Yellow Submarine, it's a reworking of that. No wizards and Voldemort - but dragons and stars (the celestial kind, not the Hollywood kind) who are more human than they might like. It has been very fun and engrossing. _

_This is going to be a very short story - 3 or 4 chapters long. It was written for lanedelton. We had a charity drive over on my livejournal. She donated the most, and won this. I hope she's satisfied with it. _


	2. Part II

Harry felt a great surge of both relief and disappointment as he watched Ron step coughing out of the fireplace. But his anger and confusion were still rolling around inside of him, and instead of welcoming his best mate he scowled down at the table. "What're you doing here?" he asked gruffly.

"Well that's a nice greeting," Ron said, sounding surprised and offended.

"Sorry," said Harry, though he didn't really mean it. It didn't help that _Quidditch Weekly_ was still open. He watched as another man swung Ginny up in his arms over and over again. A haze of red tinted his vision.

A sharp slap on the back of his head interrupted his increasingly dour thoughts.

"You're late," Ron said, gripping Harry by the elbow and pulling him out of his chair. Before Harry really knew what was going on, he was being frog-marched to the fireplace.

"What?" Harry said, trying to stop. But Ron was bigger than he was. Unless Harry resorted to magic – and he wasn't quite ready to hex his best mate and girlfriend's older brother – he really had no choice but to keep up. "What am I late for? I only just—"

"Family dinner, remember?" Ron asked. The tone of his voice suggested that he thought Harry was a very small, very stupid child. "You were supposed to be there an hour ago, mate. You promised Mum yesterday that you'd be home in time. I – lucky bloke that I am – was sent to fetch you."

Harry started to retort that he had no such recollection of anything of the sort—

Except that quite suddenly, he _did_ remember. He'd Flooed the Burrow yesterday looking for Ginny –_And that took a bloody long time_, was his dark thought – and had found Molly. In raptures that he'd be home after a month away, she'd promptly decided to throw a welcome home dinner. Distracted, Harry had agreed.

"Is Ginny there yet?" Harry asked as Ron took a pinch of Floo powder out of the bucket on the mantle.

"Um, not yet," Ron said. Before Harry could ask why Ron suddenly sounded so uncomfortable, Ron disappeared and a swirl of green flames. Scowling, Harry followed him. He stepped from the monotonous quiet of his kitchen, into flames, and was spit back out again into a room filled with noisy chaos. As always, the Weasley family appeared to be made up of about a hundred people. Mrs. Weasley was next to the stove; for once, she wasn't orchestrating the preparation of a ten-course meal. Instead, she was talking very earnestly with Mr. Weasley. George was in the corner, idly playing with Angelina Johnson's hair; Hermione had wrapped herself around Ron; Bill and Fleur were toasting each other with full goblets of wine; and Percy was leaning up against the wall, smiling around at everyone.

For a full five seconds, no one noticed that he'd arrived. Then—

"Harry!" George boomed. "It's about time you get here."

"Oh, Harry, dear, I'm so glad you got home safely—"

"Harry! Why were you so late?"

George, Mrs. Weasley, and Hermione were only the first to offer their greetings. Harry felt an almost begrudging sense of warmth, and he felt like smiling for the first time all day. But his sense of homecoming was tempered by the fact that Ginny wasn't anywhere to be seen.

"Where's Ginny?" he asked. The question came out colder and harder than he intended it to. His black mood made him hyper-aware of the people around him, and he did not miss the uneasy glance between Mrs. Weasley and Hermione. Harry figured that they all must be well aware of the _Quidditch Weekly_ article. It wasn't exactly a secret that Harry disliked the inappropriate attention she received from her male fans. And that was just a part of his anger with her – that _damned_ quote—

"Ginny isn't coming tonight," Hermione said hesitantly. Though her voice was soft, the usually loud crowd was quiet.

"She isn't coming," Harry repeated. His jaw tightened, and he fought the urge to ask what was the point of having a welcome home dinner for him if the most important person decided not to show up. Even as angry as he was, he didn't want to be that rude.

"Er – she decided to go out for a few drinks with some – er – fans of hers," Ron said. The tips of his ears were bright red. He was eyeing Harry as though he was a firework about to explode in a rather extravagant manner.

"I _told_ that girl she shouldn't do it," Mrs. Weasley said. She sounded highly irritated. "Your first day back after a month, and she picks _tonight_—"

"Molly," Mr. Weasley murmured.

Harry was struggling with the uncomfortable weight of about a thousand pairs of eyes trained directly on him. They all appeared to expect something from him, though he had no clue what. _And that's just great,_ he thought furiously. They ought to be silently interrogating Ginny, since _she_ was the one who had apparently gone around the bend. Not even showing up for dinner!

"Gotta ask, mate," Ron interrupted his thoughts, "did you have a fight with Ginny before you left?"

"No," Harry said immediately. The day before he left for his nightmare case, he and Ginny had made love three times. Each time had been more satisfying than the last, and they'd fallen asleep that night entwined together. There hadn't been anything even resembling a fight, unless bickering over who got to receive oral sex first could be considered a fight.

Hermione looked like she didn't believe him. She opened her mouth—

"We weren't fighting then," Harry said firmly. As to now, he had no clue. He didn't want to fight with Ginny, but unless she had a damned good reason for that quote and for not showing up tonight, he was willing to have one.

"Well," said Hermione.

Ron shrugged.

After a moment of very awkward and tense silence, Mrs. Weasley clapped her hands together. "We should eat, shouldn't we?" she asked. "Everything's all set up outside…"

Dutifully, they all marched out to the backyard, where two tables had been placed together. All of Harry's favorite foods had already been laid out. He felt a little surge of affection for Mrs. Weasley. Sometimes she went overboard – Harry suspected that it might have something to do with Fred – but there was never any doubt that she cared about him.

Not like Ginny.

The brief surge of affection died a quick death. The rational part of Harry was aware that he wasn't exactly being himself. But he'd also never been this angry with the woman he loved before. The same woman who apparently didn't think their relationship was anything serious, who'd flung herself at another man, and hadn't bothered to show up for dinner.

Harry forced himself to quit thinking about it. Instead, he focused on eating. Even though he generally considered Mrs. Weasley's cooking delicious, he just couldn't manage to taste it. He was just about to force another bite of shepherd's pie into his mouth, when Bill called his name down the table.

"Harry, how'd the case go?" he asked. "Did you catch the bloke?"

"Yeah, what was going on with that, anyway?" George put in. "The papers haven't said a word."

"Yeah, we caught the guy," Harry said. "Eventually. But not until after he'd murdered three children." Mrs. Weasley and Fleur gasped at that. Harry stared down at his plate; his hands were trembling. "You see, he was convinced that if he killed them when they were young enough, he'd get their power… become stronger." Almost conversationally, he added, "Apparently he had to torture them to death in order to—"

But he couldn't go on. He dropped his fork; it bounced off the table and onto the lawn. For a second, he put his head in his hands, pulling at his hair, and unable to stop himself from seeing what they'd found in the mad wizard's cellar. No one else spoke. To his horror, he felt a huge lump growing in his throat.

Harry lifted his head. "I'm sorry," he said in a low voice. Dropping that on them like that was inexcusable. He pushed himself away from the table and stood up. He looked over at Mrs. Weasley, whose hands were covering her mouth. Her eyes were wide with horror, and guilt stabbed his belly. "I'm sorry that I—"

She shook her head abruptly. "Don't be sorry, dear," she said. She suddenly sounded very fierce, although Harry didn't exactly understand why.

"Ginny, she… d'you"—Harry's voice cracked—"d'you know where she went for drinks?" It was suddenly imperative that he find her. Whether he wanted to fight with her or hold onto her, he didn't entirely know.

"The Leaky Cauldron," she said.

Harry nodded jerkily. "Thanks for…" he gestured vaguely. Then he turned and walked away, taking long strides toward the fence. Once he hopped over it, he could Apparate. It didn't take more than ten steps to realize he was being followed. "You don't have to come," he told Ron and Hermione. He didn't have to turn around to know it was them.

"Yeah, we do," Ron said. He sounded very serious. "I've got a funny feeling."

"Ginny's been acting… odd for a week," said Hermione. "Ever since the interview with _Quidditch Weekly_."

Harry just nodded. Less than a minute later, they simultaneously hopped the fence and crossed the wards. Ron grabbed Hermione's hand, gripped Harry's shoulder, and turned on the spot. Harry was pushed through a dark tube and came out the other side standing just outside the back door to the pub. The brick wall that led to Diagon Alley was directly behind them.

"I just want to talk to her," Harry said. Ron's hand was still on his shoulder, and he felt a firm squeeze before the weight lifted.

The pub was smoky and loud. Dozens of witches and wizards stood at the bar, chatting noisily. Even more huddled around tables. Harry's eyes scanned back and forth, looking for a mane of red hair._Where is she?_ Harry, Ron, and Hermione wandered further into the bar. A hush began to fall; people began to recognize them, and excited whispers broke out.

Harry ignored this, pushing himself through the crowd. Ron and Hermione followed in his wake. For some inexplicable reason, he drew his wand and clenched it tightly in his hand. "She's supposed to be with a group of fans, right?" Harry asked. But all the big groups of people did not have Ginny in their midst.

He turned back, squinting toward the bar. Maybe she was there, and he just hadn't—

"Oh _no_!" Hermione gasped.

"Holy fucking shit!" Ron said loudly.

Harry turned. For the second time in two days, the sight that greeted him was like a heavy blow to his gut. Except this was worse. Shock and pain made him unable to draw a breath, and all he could do was stare.

They were in a private booth, but what they were doing was hardly fit for a public place. David MacKenzie had one hand in her long hair, and the other hand – Harry felt another wave of pain – on her breast. They were kissing fiercely, practically eating each other's faces off. Ginny was straddling MacKenzie's lap, rocking back and forth. Even as he watched, she pulled away slightly, her mouth open in a moan he thankfully couldn't hear.

Harry's blood roared in his ears. His stomach clenched so tightly that he was afraid he might actually vomit…

Ginny. _His Ginny_ in the arms of another man, kissing him the way only Harry was supposed to kiss her, letting MacKenzie touch parts of her body that only Harry was allowed to touch. The image seared into his brain. His entire body shook. It was the worst thing he'd ever seen, but he couldn't seem to look away. Rooted to the spot, he watched as she arched her back and then grabbed MacKenzie's face in both hands and brought her lips back to his.

"Ginny," he breathed.


	3. Part III

A fog settled over Harry's brain, and a spell churned in his belly, rose up his throat and, before he was truly aware of it, spilled out of his lips. "A—"

"Harry, NO!" Hermione shouted, grabbing his arm and pulling Harry toward her. "Ron – let's get out of here."

Harry let himself be pulled away. His eyes burned, and the image seared his mind. Ginny, wrapped around another man, grinding against him. MacKenzie's hand was on her back, wand held tightly in his grip, and his other hand moved to her thigh – traveling upward. People moved in front of Harry. He could feel the other revelers at the Leaky Cauldron staring at him. It was easy to feel the pity. It broke over him in waves.

A light flashed.

"Put the fucking camera away, you sodding bastard," someone roared. The crowd parted. Harry allowed himself to be pulled through it. The fresh night air startled him nonetheless. It did nothing to help the heavy weight pressing against his chest. He remained quiet as Ron and Hermione argued in the loudest whispers Harry had ever heard.

"We _have_ to get him out of here," Hermione said frantically.

"I want a fucking explanation from my sister," Ron growled. "_Look_ at him, he was about to—"

But Ron never finished his sentence. Hermione had grabbed hold of both of them – Harry felt her nails digging into his arm – and Disapparated. Harry's eyes burned even more. This panicked, uncertain feeling was unfamiliar to him. With each passing moment, it grew even worse. This made Harry more docile than he would have been otherwise, and he allowed them to lead him back to where the Weasleys sat.

"What's happened?" George asked sharply, voice tight with concern. There was a large moth hovering over his nose. He ignored this. Harry watched its wings beat with something that felt like fascination.

"We – uh – we found Ginny," Ron said, sounding desperately uncomfortable.

"Where is she?" Mrs. Weasley asked expectantly, eyes moving back and forth as if her daughter would pop into existence at any moment.

"She's at the pub," said Hermione.

There was an extended moment of silence. The growing concern was like a physical thing, and Harry's chest tightened even further. He relived the scene over and over again in his mind. His thoughts leapt and bounded inside his head; they were incoherent and patchy. A dim part of him knew that he should be saying something… doing something… _anything_. If his reflexes were really this slow, he'd be dead by now.

But this was like nothing he'd ever experienced before… the closest thing to it was when he and Ron had happened upon Ginny and Dean snogging in the otherwise empty corridor. Then, the monster in his chest had erupted in fury. Now it was still and quiet, holding its breath.

"She was snogging someone," Harry forced himself to say. His voice rasped like dry leaves.

"_What?_?!" George said loudly.

At the same moment, Fleur let out of stream of French. "_Non, non, je ne sais pas—_"

"Surely she—"

"She was," Hermione said, baffled and sad. "It was that fan of hers – David MacKenzie."

"Right there in the Leaky Cauldron," Ron added grimly.

"But I don't understand," Mrs. Weasley said. "Ginny wouldn't do that… she loves Harry…"

_She loves Harry._ The words echoed in his head. Harry closed his eyes and sunk down into an empty chair. _She loves me,_ he told himself. How often had she proven that very thing? The first time they'd said the words to each other, Ginny's face had been bright red and her eyes had sparkled with emotion. That summer after the war had ended, Harry had felt her love so deeply that it had taken his breath away more than once.

"She's been acting funny all week," Hermione said nervously. Her hand curled around Harry's shoulder. "She's been saying things…"

"What kind of things?" Mr. Weasley asked. Harry chanced a glance around the table. Everyone avoided his gaze. It was, he realized, an extremely awkward situation. How many times had Mr. and Mrs. Weasley asserted that they viewed Harry as one of their own? And now that Ginny—

"We had a long talk after lunch on Sunday," Hermione said. "She told me things…" Her voice trailed away. "_Strange_ things. She brought up the fact that Harry broke up with her to go find the Horcruxes, and that she had always thought that he should've – should've stayed with her or, or brought her along."

"That's bullshit," Ron said angrily. His fists clenched and unclenched. "If she really believes that, she's an idiot."

"No daughter of mine would say that," Mrs. Weasley flared up. "Hermione, you must have heard wrong—"

"I didn't hear wrong," Hermione said defensively. "She said – and these are the exact words – 'Ever since we started dating, I've occupied the number two spot in Harry's life.'"

His stomach lurched sickeningly.

"And then she went on to talk about Harry's job, how it took him away from her and that he never seems to mind leaving on an Auror mission—"

"And what about _her_ job?" George asked incredulously. "What about the two months of training camp that she does every year with the Harpies?"

At any other time, Harry would have felt warmth and gratitude toward this family, who so obviously thought of him as one of their own. But they were defending him against _Ginny_. Ginny, who had practically been having a public shag with another man. Unable to stop himself, he relived the moment again… and again. Her hair had been tousled, her mouth searching and hungry. MacKenzie's hands had been all over her – he'd had his magical wand pressed tightly against her back—

"—especially after what happened in the Chamber, Ginny _knows_ what Harry is doing is important," Mrs. Weasley said loudly, slamming her open palm against the table. "We certainly didn't raise her to be an idiot."

"And that shite about her being hacked off at Harry for breaking up with her is – is just shite," Ron agreed. "It's not like he was wanting to have a bit of freedom and date a few veela. It was _V-Voldemort_--"

Harry quite clearly remembered that horrible moment at Dumbledore's funeral when he had forced himself to break up with Ginny for her own safety. She'd understood. He _knew_ that. Ginny wasn't stupid. If she didn't want to be with him anymore, she'd have a _reason_ for it. And she'd tell him straight up, before she entangled herself with another man—

Unwillingly, he watched the scene again. It was as though he was watching a Muggle movie, and some sadistic arse kept rewinding the worst part. MacKenzie, shoving his tongue in her mouth, his wand clenched in his hand.

"Ginny just wouldn't do that," Ron was saying.

"But she did," Hermione pointed out quietly.

"I don't suppose it could have been a love potion?" Mr. Weasley asked uncertainly. "That fan of hers – he has a bit of a crush on her, that's obvious."

Excited clamor immediately rose up around the table. Harry could hear relief in everyone's voices as they discussed this possibility. In fact, George and Bill, once Mr. Weasley had made the suggestion, appeared to take it as fact ("What if that complete arse bought it from my shop?" George asked). Even Hermione, who had sounded so sad just moments before, was swayed.

But Harry's brain was working overtime. The love potion angle was a possibility, he supposed, but it didn't make all that much sense. Surely, she would have been professing her love for MacKenzie on street corners if this were the case. Harry would have known that something was deeply amiss. He could clearly remember the way Ron had acted back in sixth year when he'd been the unsuspecting victim of Romilda Vane… the sappy, love-struck look on his face had been enough for Harry to be suspicious.

The scene played over again in his mind. This time, Harry felt less like he was huddled in a corner and feeling nothing but shock and pain. This time, he had greater clarity. The shock had receded a bit, and he remembered that he, Harry, was the person Ginny loved most in the world.

"It isn't a love potion," Harry said, cutting across the chatter. Everyone immediately fell silent. Suddenly, he was on his feet. Anger had kindled inside of him once again. He was powerless to control it.

Ron looked aghast. "You've got to at least consider it, mate! I know I'd want to kill anyone who touched Hermione, but what if Ginny's being forced to – you can't just let—"

"Shut up, Ron!" Harry shouted. He turned and snatched his wand from Hermione's hand. "It wasn't a love potion," he repeated. Cold certainty filled him, right along with his swelling rage. He knew – he _knew_, beyond a shadow of a doubt what was going on. "He has her under the Imperius Curse."


	4. Part IV

Hermione reached out and gripped his arm. Once again, Harry felt her fingertips digging tightly into his skin. Her eyes were wide. "Harry, are you sure this is the best idea? You were going to kill him in the pub, and—"

"I wasn't about to kill him," Harry said. Perhaps he might have been offended, but he couldn't exactly blame Hermione for thinking this. "I was going to use _Aguamenti_," he added. He neglected to mention that a large part of him wanted to tear David MacKenzie limb from limb. Even as he thought it, his hand tightened on his wand.

"How can you be sure it's the Imperius Curse?" Percy asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"He does have a point," Ron said fairly. "I mean – it's better than the, er, alternative—"

"He had his wand out," Harry said. Ginny was a strong witch; MacKenzie would have to keep his wand on her at all times to keep her under his control. "Why else would he—"

"I didn't see his wand," Hermione said.

"You weren't looking as closely as I was," Harry said quietly. None of the Weasleys seemed to want to argue with him any further. In fact, there was a particularly fierce look on Mrs. Weasley's face. Their eyes caught and held for a moment; Harry was suddenly keenly aware that this was the woman who had killed Bellatrix Lestrange—

"It's either the Imperius Curse, or something similar," Mrs. Weasley said. "Ginny would _not_ consent to this."

The implications hit Harry then – really hit him – with the force of a small bomb. For a moment he thought he might be physically ill, and his stomach pitched and heaved. If David MacKenzie was forcing Ginny to kiss him and touch him… if Harry didn't get there soon, there was a very real chance that she would be _raped._

The eerie calm was replaced by a chilling fury. "I never should have left," he said. Unable to help himself, he glanced back at Hermione. _She never should have pulled me away…_

Two minutes had passed since Harry's realization, and time suddenly pressed down on him. It was a heavy weight on his shoulders. Every second that passed, MacKenzie was touching his Ginny. Shaking his head sharply, Harry brought his wand to his lips. It took several moments – too long – to dredge up a happy memory. His mind raced, flipping past captured moments, but they all starred Ginny…

_Stop that,_ Harry told himself. The ache in his stomach was pushed to the side and he chose the memory of the first time he'd ridden a broom. "_Expecto Patronum_," he said firmly. When his stag appeared, Harry thought it might look rather dimmer than usual.

"Go to Hamish MacGregor, Vada Lawrence, and Timothy Merrythought," he told it, naming the three other Aurors who had worked with him on his most recent case. "Tell them to meet me outside the Leaky Cauldron."

"What are you doing?" Ron asked, flabbergasted. "You don't need the Aurors. You have us!" Looking around, Harry realized that all the Weasleys were now standing in a loose circle around him. All of them had matching grim expressions on their faces. They were, Harry knew, pretty keen to take matters into their own hands and protect one of their own and damn the government.

But Harry – who had spent the last two years learning about procedures and all the ways an Auror's misstep could fuck up a case - needed things to go exactly right tonight. There was no way David MacKenzie was going to avoid a life in Azkaban.

His refusal must have been written plainly on his face.

"No way are you going to tell us to stay here," George said flatly.

"You don't understand," Harry said. It was a grim truth that Aurors were bound and restricted by more laws than Harry could count. _During a criminal case, the Auror is tried just as much as the dark wizard_, Kingsley had told him on several different occasions. And Harry had learned his lesson… if he could arrest Avery Parkinson for torturing children to death without killing the fucker, Harry could take care of MacKenzie?

Couldn't he?

He felt a little tendril of doubt curl in his belly. Before it could become full-blown uncertainty, he strode toward the back gate. There was a stampede behind him. "I said stay here!" he shouted over his shoulder, not bothered in the slightest that he was issuing orders to his girlfriend's parents and older brothers.

"Fuck no, Harry," Bill said, catching his arm.

Harry jerked out of his grip. It took only seconds for him to realize that there was no way he could stop them. "If you ruin this," he began, looking directly at Bill, "and David MacKenzie gets away with this… if he doesn't go to Azkaban… I'm holding _you_ responsible for killing him." The cold part of him knew that was insane, but the crowd of Weasleys were pressing in, demanding to go with him, and all Harry could think about was David MacKenzie pressed against Ginny, undressing her, stealing her away from him with a sinister smile and a curse. The Weasley nutters would never back down, and Harry would waste even more time arguing with them. Damn.

"Just... just stay behind me," he muttered.

HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP

Prior to her first year at Hogwarts, Ginny she'd had the usual nightmares: Falling, giant flowers growing in her room, and her Quidditch dolls coming to life and telling her mother she used her brother's brooms. She had anxiety dreams leading up to getting on the train at King's Cross (most of which involved Harry Potter telling her she was not, in fact, a witch and could he have her wand, please?), but Ginny Weasley had not known the meaning of fear until she began to lose track of time, and suspect her actions were being controlled by something outside herself. That ended in the Chamber of Secrets with the destruction of the diary, but that particular brand of terror had embedded itself deep in her psyche, and there were still mornings when she recounted the minutes of previous days, just to make sure she was entirely Ginny Weasley every moment of her life.

It was a quirk. Like most quirks, it increased and decreased in strength, but hardly a week went by when Ginny did not thoroughly review her own actions, _just to make sure_. Harry knew about it - she'd told him once on a quiet morning as they had tea together. Since then, he'd supplied information, and it had become a tradition of sorts to linger over recent memories and to recount them. She could see them doing this in tender moments down the years, when they were older, grayer: "Do you remember when?" he would say, and she would reply, "Yes, of course, Mum was furious." Once Harry had joined her, the quirk had become near harmless. She remembered not because of the tangled knot of anxiety in her belly, but because it was fun.

The month David MacKenzie had Ginny under the Imperius Curse, she did not think about it at all.

Everything _sparkled_, from the chandeliers, to the rims of Muggle cars. It was as though everything had little tiny fairies inside it, giving it this dazzling glow. David MacKenzie was _just like that_; there were no dark notes to him. He did not have a grumpy side. He was always smiling, always complimenting, and if he had the hand on the small of her back so often she had an honest-to-Merlin bruise, that did not matter. He was smiling. He always complimented her. He was _fantastic_. And he was always smiling.

David MacKenzie was just an all-around, damn good guy.

Her mind was constantly cycling through David's most charming aspects. During what David called her "grumpy" moments, Ginny griped that the inside of her head had turned into a Celestina Warbeck album. _The inside of my mum's head is like this_, she thought once with horror. _Poor Mum! No wonder everyone thinks she's gone over! _Ginny had never felt - no, Ginny had never _thought _about anyone quite like this before. Not even H-

_David MacKenzie is such a good boyfriend_, Ginny thought to herself. She was waiting for him to catch up with her - he was still down at the bar - _taking care of a few things _- and they might have sex tonight. They hadn't done it before, though they'd snogged heavily. Ginny had ever only slept with H-

_David MacKenzie will be such a great shag_, Ginny thought to herself. She blinked, shook her head, and wondered why her thoughts were so scattered. She glanced around the kitchen as she stirred her tea. It was a decent flat. A little shabby, and everything was in one great room. Quidditch posters of female players clung to every wall, so it looked like a game was going on. Ginny grimaced when she saw her poster over the bed. It surprised her a little to find that such a fan of hers would end up being just an all-around, damn good guy, and one she wanted to be with every waking hour. She normally was just a little uncomfortable with the spectacle people made of her, as though they thought that by playing Quidditch, she was somehow worthy of being worshiped. She'd seen from a young age what fame did to people, and since she got together with H-

_David MacKenzie's attention is extremely flattering_.

_David MacKenzie is everything I have ever dreamed about._

_David MacKenzie is such a good guy._

The Celestina Warbeck song inspired by David MacKenzie and played privately for an audience of one, in Ginny's own mind, was interrupted by a rather loud, rather angry sounding knock. Ginny clutched the counter. This was no hullo-let-me-in knock; the pounding noise sounded like repeated swears. In fact, Ginny's body yearned toward the door, the knocks were accompanied by swears. She recognized her brothers' voiced, and that other voice. It was H-

"-not here, she's been like that since we came in-"

"Let Bill do it, Harry-"

"Just get the fucking thing off her. _Look at her. _How you prats had no clue-"

"Sod off, mate, go hold her or something."

Ginny came to feeling quite unlike any way she had felt before, except perhaps directly after the Chamber of Secrets and Tom Riddle's diary. Her hands shook. Her feet were cold. Her mouth was dry. She was sitting with her back to the wall, legs folded neatly under her, and Harry - _Harry! - _had her chin in his hands. "-broke the Imperius Curse off of you. Gin, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Have you got a clue where MacKenzie is?"

Ginny licked her lips. "No," she rasped out. She slid her eyes closed. Tears escaped anyway. "I kept _trying _to think about you," she said. "But it was like trying to catch a rainbow - thoughts of you slid out of my mental grasp as easily as that." Ginny felt as though she were sitting on a huge mound of horror. Thirty days of it: kisses, snogs, groping, sweet words, and she couldn't even think of Harry's name. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Gentle hands shook her lightly. Bright green eyes held her own. Harry made steady eye contact with her, and she sighed a little - there was no anger in those eyes, unbelievably. None at all. "It wasn't your fault, Ginny," he said gently. "None of it was your fault." He shook her again, lightly. "Do _not_ blame yourself for this." Shakily, Ginny got up on her knees and pushed herself into his arms.

"I don't know where he is. I was - I was waiting for him," she mumbled into his neck. She was suddenly very cold, and very tired. It was uncomfortable on her knees, but her head was nodding, and her eyes fought to stay open. "Shumone putsh a shpell on... me..." she accused.

"It's just you're coming out of an extended curse," Harry soothed, stroking her hair. "You're going to sleep for a bit, and then wake up refreshed. If you don't, I will personally hex every Healer at St. Mungo's until you do." She felt his body shift as he drew her closer against him. "Sleep, Ginny, you're safe."

And she did.

**Author's Note:**

_I can't believe I updated this! You know, I thought I finished this years and years ago. But... I was wrong. I wonder what other stories are languishing in need of being finished? _


End file.
